The truly amazing thing about the apartment is that it’s so much easier than the boat. I’m amazed at how quickly I’ve forgotten land etiquette. We don’t need to cart people back and forth for them to come and visit. We have lots of visitors. And the second amazing thing is the guy who usually lives here left his landline hooked up. No more risk of going over our cell minute limit.
“Joe, good to see you. On break?” Senator Yowell’s voice reverberates like a boom box in a parking garage. The silence means he’s doing his regular handshaking bit. Because politicians insist on shaking hands so much, I told Leonard one time that there must be a secret subliminal message being passed from hand to hand, like that advertising scare in the eighties.
After Meredith says goodbye, I come out to the living room to say hello. Senator Yowell was not expected and he’s never dropped by before. I can only guess it has something to do with reelection or Leonard. Leonard is dating a girl from St. Margaret’s who’s from the Bahamas. Christie. A tiny girl with a big chest and a very rich family, according to Leonard. Whenever I run into him she’s all he talks about. Lately, since he started dating Christie, it’s been on Water Lane where we see each other. I’m usually taking a walk to the used bookstore or the cemetery or Meredith’s, and he’s picking Christie up or dropping her off. She’s the right girl for Leonard, that’s for sure, though I can’t figure how she stays upright and doesn’t tip over onto her face with all that extra weight on top.
The senator has his hand out in my direction. “Good morning, Daniel. Leonard said he saw you up and about last weekend.”
This may be the way the whole town characterizes my walks, “up and about” like some ancient rickety neighbor who’s been in bed for years and suddenly recovers. I prefer the anonymity of last year when I was simply a scraggly-headed boy with no manners. My taking a walk then wasn’t front-page news.
“He was headed to St. Margaret’s basketball game, I think,” I babble.
“Yes, Christie cheers.”
I look sideways at Joe. What the heck?
The Senator must hear his own words on instant replay. “You know what I mean, she’s a cheerleader. She cheers for the team. They played Collegiate. I think that’s what Leonard said.”
You can tell by the way he hesitates between the words that he’s not sure about the game itself, but he’s trying to be hip, to talk about things he thinks teenage guys might be interested in.
“Say hello to him for me.” I step past Joe and through the living room to the kitchen.
“Daniel.” It’s very like an order.
“Yes, sir?” I’m sure the good senator hears the ratcheting up of my irritation.
“You should stay,” he says in an even, steely tone. “I came to speak to your parents about this neglect conviction. It concerns you.”
“Did my parents ask you to come here?” I’m not inclined to hear a lecture from the great Senator Yowell on community responsibility or some such.
Rattling his keys in his pocket, he scrutinizes Joe, as if deciding whether Joe might intercede so the senator doesn’t have to deal with this belligerent teenager.
He doesn’t answer my question. “Are they here?”
Joe motions at a chair for Senator Yowell. “I’ll get them.”
It’s incredible that Joe would offer up Mom and Dad that easily, like sacrificial lambs, to a man who’s made his reputation making deals. Joe, of all people, knows what purists Mom and Dad are. They’ve already paid Walker for the appeal. They’re not going to make a deal that admits any kind of misjudgment on their part. They’ve set up their lives based on their principles. More than any other adults I know, my parents do not compromise, for money or any other kind of personal gain.
Senator Yowell, as much as he is always talking about his commitment to his constituents, can’t be any different from all the other politicians who race around in Richmond. He makes deals. In order to get six things he wants, he bargains away five he doesn’t care so much about. I’ve heard Mom talk about the lottery money that’s supposed to go to libraries. He let that payment be reduced in his battle for the repaving of Route 17 and the rebuilding of the West Point Bridge, all to make it easier for tourists to get to Essex County.
Although Dad admits it’s the way of the world, I don’t think either of them voted for him. More traffic and more tarmac hurts the ecosystems and fuels global warming. Two of their favorite causes.
Senator Yowell sits, but he doesn’t stay seated for long. In the back bedroom Joe’s voice slides in and out between Mom’s and Dad’s. The closet door opens and shuts. The toilet flushes. They’re getting dressed after a lazy Saturday morning in bed with the newspaper.
“How are you, Paul?” Dad’s first out, rolling up his sleeves as he comes, barefoot, but smiling. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Between Nick’s soccer games and Daniel’s schedule, Sylvie and I don’t get many chances to sleep in these days.”
Senator Yowell steps forward to shake hands. “Daniel’s schedule is actually what I’m here about.”
“Oh?”
“I’d rather wait for your wife.”
“Sure, sure. How about coffee?”
“Only if it’s already made. I had some at home. Can’t put too much strain on this old heart.”
Dad looks at me perched on the radiator, surveying the street. “Don’t you have some homework, Dan?”
“I asked him to stay,” the Senator says. He’s standing awkwardly in the center of the room, in the duck-duck-goose position of having been too slow. Except for the night of the party when Leonard sent him upstairs, I’ve never seen him look so awkward. The dark suit and striped tie are enough to set him apart in our house. The Yowells and my parents are not the kind of friends who go to dinner at each other’s houses or to movies together. At other people’s parties, though, they must meet and talk. And the Senator knows Mom’s first name.
When she comes down the hall, she’s running her fingers through her hair as if she just realized she forgot to comb it. Dad seems mesmerized by her appearance. Which is a wicked good clue that they weren’t actually sleeping in there. He winks at her, then flushes when he notices I caught the wink. Mom’s oblivious. She goes straight to Senator Yowell and hugs him.
“It’s so good of you to do this, Paul,” she says.
Do what? I’m completely and totally confused. Has the neglect conviction made us such social pariahs that it’s dangerous to be seen at our house? So good of you to do this? What has he done except interrupt a perfectly good Saturday morning with a reference to the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to the Landon family, brought on by the failure of my body to make the right kind of blood cells?
“Would you be more comfortable at the kitchen table?” Mom asks. “Paper and pen?”
“Good idea.” He follows her out. Dad follows him out of the room and I’m left sitting on the radiator wondering what’s the matter with me that I can’t figure out what the heck they’re talking about and when they got to be such buddies.
“Daniel,” Dad calls. “We’re waiting on you.”
Curiouser and curiouser.
While the Senator talks about the law, the way it’s written now, the reasons why the County social workers pushed the case against Mom and Dad, we listen without interrupting. Walker has already explained this to Mom and Dad, probably more than once, but I’ve only heard bits and pieces. The Senator’s recitation is wordy. I’m impressed by his command of the details, though. I wouldn’t have thought one little case in his district would merit this much attention.
He smiles back and forth at Mom, then Dad, as if the eye contact alone will keep them nodding. “Of course you know this year’s legislative session’s already started. Time’s running out. I’ve brought you the draft language of the new law, not that it will mean so much to you with the legalese. The gist of it is that it gives the courts an escape hatch on the neglect and abuse issue, if the child is 14 and fully informed about medical issues and treatment options. And…of course, if he or she consents.”